


Lacy Red Underwear

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve swallows, fingers tapping anxiously at his lace-covered thighs, which only makes him more nervous. </p>
<p>He can do this. He’s Captain America. He’s punched Hitler in the face. He can have sex with his boyfriend in lacy lingerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacy Red Underwear

It takes Steve fifteen minutes, with help from JARVIS, to find a position that doesn’t make him feel ridiculous, silly; like a twelve year old who snuck into his mother’s closet when she went out for the day and started rooting around.

He looks up at the ceiling. He knows JARVIS doesn’t live there, or anywhere, really, but it’s better than forever acknowledging the fact that there is an invisible British man watching them pee and touch themselves and brush their teeth 24/7. “How’s this?”

He’s not sure, but what comes next sounds like a sigh. “Captain, as I assured you the last five times, I’m sure Sir will find you most appealing, no matter how you position yourself.” A pause. “Yet I must say your current position does wonders for your abdominal muscles.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, because it sounds like the right response. “And, uh. The, uh.”

“It also flatters your undergarments, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, a bit fainter this time. He glances down at himself for what’s got to be the hundredth time since he put them on- he’s wearing a pair of terrifyingly expensive black silk stockings, held up by  thin garters, along with a pair of red, lacy underwear, all from a site designed specifically for men’s lingerie, which Steve hadn’t known existed up until a month ago.

He tries to stop himself from looking again, knowing it’d only make him more convinced that this whole idea was a mistake, which will lead to him stripping hurriedly, shoving on his briefs, climbing into bed and pretending to sleep when Tony finally arrives. He’s already done this twice already, and he’ll be damned if he makes it a third.

Steve swallows, fingers tapping anxiously at his lace-covered thighs, which only makes him more nervous. He can do this. He’s Captain America. He’s punched Hitler in the face. He can have sex with his boyfriend in women’s lingerie. _Men’s_ lingerie, he corrects himself. It’s his, he brought it with his own credit card, hence it’s men’s lingerie, and there’s nothing demeaning about it anyway, wearing lingerie, who gives a damn if he’s a man-

_The newspapers_ , a voice in Steve’s brain supplies helpfully, but he hisses, _shut it, you’re not helping_ , back at it. Besides, it’s nobody’s business but his what he does or doesn’t do in his bedroom. Which, right now, happens to be dress up in lacy lingerie and garters, and- and- oh, god, what if Tony laughs at him? He’ll try not to, obviously, he has that much tact- well, if he’s gotten enough sleep that day- and he’ll assure Steve afterwards that he’s fine with whatever kinks he has, but what if he walks in, sees Steve splayed out like a moron with his dumb lingerie, and can’t help it and starts laughing?

Just as Steve is reaching the point where he backs out entirely, gets up, struggles out of his clothes and into his usual underwear and then lies in bed for the next hour feeling stupid and disappointed in himself, JARVIS pipes up: “Sir has arrived back at the Tower, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Steve blurts, for the third time in two minutes, and god, he’s blushing all down his face, his neck and the front of his chest. He probably looks all blotchy now, and the blush will clash awfully with the red underwear.

He spares a thought as to how, a year ago, he would have never imagined he’d ever end up here, before he hears footsteps down the hall and tenses without meaning to. His mind blurs- should he try another position, just in case? Are the pillows stacked right? He feels stiff and awkward and his arms are cramping from where they’re on either side of him, palms to the bed, and for a moment he wonders if he has enough time to duck and roll into the bathroom, before he hears Tony’s voice through the door.

And then the door is opening, and Steve may or may not freeze, rabbit-in-the-headlights style, and Tony is halfway through saying, “Ugh, whoever invented meetings should be dragged out in the street and shot, or better yet thrown to Doom, god knows he-” before he cuts himself off as his jaw goes slack; his hands falter and stop where they’re undoing his tie.

“I, I,” he says, half-choking it, and stops again, staring.

He makes a noise that sounds too much like a confused squeak.

Steve knows he has to be blushing badly now; blotching all the way down the length of his body. “I was, uh,” he says, “going to lie down. On the bed, obviously, but, uh, JARVIS said it might look better if, if I displayed my legs a little.”

To make his point, he gathers up what’s left of his courage and spreads his legs wider, the silk of the stockings sliding against the carpet, sending a jolt through him.

Tony continues to stare blatantly, seemingly stuck. His hands are strangling his tie, clutched around it so tight his knuckles are whitening.

“I just,” Steve says, “I just, if you don’t, I can, if you don’t _want_ ,” he splutters uselessly, hopelessly, and goddamnit, he was expecting laughter, if anything, and Tony is still staring like he’s been frozen. Shit, maybe he’s freaked out? Did Steve freak him out? Is Tony physically able to _be_ freaked out? Did Steve-

And then Tony’s staggering into motion, his movements jolted, like a badly-oiled machine. “It’s fine,” he manages, taking a step forward and stopping, taking another step and stopping, like some strange, demented dance. “It’s- god, _Steve_. It’s more than fine, it’s good, it’s great, it’s- it’s really awe-strikingly- awesome-”

Steve is already moving towards his briefs, which he has bunched close to him, under the bed in case he had chickened out beforehand, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “No, it’s okay, it’s fine, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed-”

They had talked about it, nearly six months ago now. Tony had mentioned, offhand, that he had a sort of a thing for it, and Steve had nodded along at the time but didn’t really look further into it until a few days later, when he had gone searching for it on the internet. What he had found had confirmed the initial surprised interest he had felt when Tony had brought it up, and a month and several fumbled internet searches later, he had ordered some things off a site that catered to- what he was looking for.

Steve reaches for his briefs, and Tony- well, _lunges_ is as good a word as any.

“Nope, nope, uh-uh, no way-” He bats Steve’s hands away before swaying back a bit, like he’s afraid to touch Steve. “Nope,” he repeats, sounding less like someone being brutally throttled and more like a normal person. “There will be none of that here, not right now, put on some other clothes later if you want, but right now I want- I want-” he cuts himself off again, his throat clicking as his eyes travel downwards, over Steve’s body. His breath comes out shakily, and the words just as unsteady: “Holy _shit_ , Steve.”

Steve wills down the blush. “You, uh, like it?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks, eyes on Steve’s face, his chest, his hips, and then down- “Yeah, yes, very much yes, _yes_ is most definitely the answer here, one hundred and ten percent yes, holy shit, you actually- holy shit,” he finishes, breathing it out in a rush. His eyes are glossy; glazed, he talks like he’s been crawling through the desert for days.

Steve huffs a laugh, and says in a thin voice, “Sorry, I didn’t quite get that, was that a yes,” because apparently even so nervous his hands are shaking, he’s still a mouthy little shit. Old habits die hard, he supposes, even in lacy red underwear.

He doesn’t get a laugh in return, though, instead he gets Tony literally _leaping_ on him, jumping into his lap and locking his legs around Steve’s waist, grinding down, babbling, “Yes, you fucking bastard, so much yes, truckloads and private jets and jetskis and- and limos of yes, god, where did you-” he mouths his way down Steve’s neck, drawing out a moan from him- “even get this, did JARVIS help you find it and _not tell me_ , I’m going to rewrite the shit out of his code-”

“He may have withheld some private information,” Steve says breathily, baring his neck to give Tony more space to suck bruises into, and in between nips, Tony continues, “-long have you had this, Christ, did you have it here and not show me, that is a travesty, Steve, a _travesty,_ god, you’re gorgeous, you’re so good, Steve-”

And then Steve’s soft moans turn to ones of protest as Tony is pulling back, sliding out of his lap and back to standing and then backing away a step. His hands are still on him, though, carding through his hair and then down his shoulders.

“Just gonna look at you for a second,” Tony says, and does just that for a good ten seconds, eyes following the line of Steve’s navel, down to where Steve’s cock has been tenting the lace- “How long have you been hard,” he asks, and Steve swallows.

“Since-” Tony’s hand closes over the lace and squeezes briefly, and Steve doesn’t stop the groan that spills from him before continuing, “Shit, since before you got here. It’s- dressed up like this, it- I like it.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, his eyes a thin ring of brown around the pupil, looking at Steve like he wants to goddamn _destroy_ him, like he’s hungry and wants to devour him, “Yeah, fuck, I can see how much you like it, Steve. Got hard just sitting here waiting for me in your pretty panties.”

That startles another moan out of Steve, and Tony isn’t even moving his hand, but Steve’s cock jerks against his palm, dampening the lace where the tip of his cock is jutting.

“Fuck,” Tony breathes, half-lidded, his thumb coming up to press over the wet spot, rubbing slightly so Steve tries to push into it. “God, Steve, you’re so good,” he says, and then he’s saying things into Steve’s mouth, mumbled compliments and curses and then he’s pulling back, _again_ , but Steve doesn’t have time to make a noise before Tony is dropping to his knees and sucking at the wet spot of Steve’s panties, tasting pre-come through the lace, and Steve shouts.

He looks down, and Tony is pressing open-mouthed kisses to Steve’s lace-clad cock, taking the head in his mouth and getting the material good and wet, tongue laving over the tip. He bites soft lines into Steve’s thigh, kisses the silk, drags his teeth over it, and Steve is utterly lost at the sight of it, completely overwhelmed as Tony runs both his hands up the silk, up the garters and stopping just below the base of his cock.

“I got-” Steve swallows again, his mouth too dry. “I got ready. For you, earlier.” The mouth at his left thigh pauses. “I fingered myself,” Steve says, “You don’t even have to prepare me, you can just, you can fuck me right now and-”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Tony says, and Steve feels the pressure of it over his cock, making him shiver. And then Tony’s making his way up his body again; hot, fast kisses up his torso, pausing momentarily to suck at Steve’s nipple so he whimpers, and then staying there for a few seconds to hear Steve make that sound again before moving up the mattress. Steve moves with him, underneath him, feeling almost delirious, eyes on Tony’s wonderfully plush mouth above him.

Tony kisses him, tasting only slightly like the incredible salty tang that Steve has come to associate with blowjobs, and Steve kisses back sloppily, all co-ordination out the window. “Wearing too many clothes,” he gasps, and follows as Tony sits up between his thighs. They strip him, tie whipping off, shirt tugged off his shoulders and flung somewhere to the right side of the room, and then the pants, the shoes, and lastly, the socks, which Tony yanks off like they personally offended him, before he’s pushing close in between Steve’s thighs, overheated skin to lace and silk.

Then he takes a second to _look_ at him again, the bastard, pulling back to get all of him in view, and Steve tugs him back in, hands around the back of his head. “Stop looking and start taking, I’m right here, for Chrissakes.” He fumbles under one of the pillows, latches onto it on the second try and presses a foil packet of lube into Tony’s hand. “Get-”

“Yeah,” Tony says, already ripping the top of it and smearing it over his hand, which then grips his cock. Steve watches his eyes flutter closed as he strokes himself, slicking him up, and Steve takes a while to appreciate that before taking Tony’s ass in both hands and pulling him closer.

“Could you fuck me without- without taking it off,” Steve asks, and Tony honest to god shudders, his mouth slackening before its on Steve’s again, hissing _yeah, yes_ into his lips, licking into his mouth, and Steve feels Tony’s hand reach down below his cock and pulling the lace sideways, exposing his hole.

He starts to bite down on his groan before remembering that Tony loves it when Steve doesn’t hold back on them, and instead lets his head fall forwards onto Tony’s shoulder, moaning shamelessly as Tony presses into him, opening him up faster than he usually does, pushing all the way in until his balls are snug against Steve’s ass. Steve starts to move, tiny upward thrusts, his thighs already shaking, cock twitching against their stomachs.

He hears Tony swear above him before his hips are snapping forwards, catching Steve off guard. Tony pushes him into the bed, thrusting harder, his teeth buried in Steve’s neck just how Steve likes it, and Steve pushes back just as hard, his hands squeezing Tony’s ass, urging him faster.

Tony’s talking, of course he is, grunting, muttering curse words, telling Steve how gorgeous he is, how good, how Tony can’t believe how fucking lucky he is, and pressing kisses that always degenerates into hot, wet panting into Steve’s neck. He makes sure to try to get Steve’s prostate every few thrusts, listening to Steve cry out when he hits his sweet spot.

“Fuck,” he says, and keeps saying it, like he’s shocked at how good everything feels, and it’s muffled by Steve’s shoulder. Steve thinks Tony’s cock must be dragging against the lace every time he thrusts into Steve, and the thought only intensifies the heat pooling in his stomach. “I want,” Steve says, and he pushes his fingers through Tony’s hair, probably too hard, but Tony just groans.

“Wanna-” Steve loses his words on the next thrust. It’s _good_ , and it’s always good, but the silk is rasping against the sheets and the lace is straining against his cock and he feels full, he feels so fucking full he might burst. “Wanna ride you, lemme ride you,” he gasps out, pushing at Tony’s arms, using his legs to turn them both over so Tony’s on his back.

Tony grunts a response, but it’s not a negative one, so Steve starts riding him in earnest. Tony’s hands come up around Steve’s hips, thumbs toying with the waistband of his panties as he fucks up into him, and Steve couldn’t stop the startled moans from falling out of his mouth if he tried. His cock is a bright, flushed red now, to match the lace, and Tony presses one palm over it, rubbing, but not pulling the underwear down to free his cock, and Steve can’t decide if it’s a bad thing or not.

The other hand is on Steve’s thigh, running over where the silk ends and the garters begin, and Steve looks down as he rides Tony, looks at Tony’s thick, deft fingers, playing with Steve’s lingerie, and that’s all it takes for Steve to lose it. His eyes slam shut as he comes inside his panties with a shout, thighs shaking, knuckles clenched in the sheets, listening to Tony’s ragged gasp.

He rides it out, hips twitching forwards, and hears Tony say, “ _Fuck_ ,” before he feels a flood of warmth inside him and opens his eyes to see Tony’s head tossed back into the pillows, mouth open in a silent cry as he comes inside Steve.

It’s all Steve can do to not crush Tony as his body gives and he falls forwards into the pillow instead of Tony, both of their chests heaving and Steve still shaking.

“You,” Tony says eventually, and has to take a second to breathe in. “You look _really_ good.”

“Thanks,” Steve rasps.

**Author's Note:**

> The second PWP I've ever written. Also, I'd like to add that it's a school night, and this idea struck at nine PM, and I write porn atrociously slowly. I am going to be a zombie tomorrow.
> 
> WORTH IT.
> 
> Also, find me here at my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
